Paths
by alkin
Summary: Captured property are supposed to meekly await their lot, but sometimes loyalty takes us in unexpected directions. After the raid on the White Tower the damane Dali finds herself a prisoner, and is faced with a terrible choice.
1. Prisoner

Title: Paths

Author: alkin

Rating: T

Summary: Captured property are supposed to meekly await their lot, but sometimes loyalty takes us in unexpected directions. After the raid on the White Tower the _damane_ Dali finds herself a prisoner, and is faced with a terrible choice.

~/~

Chapter One: Prisoner

The sound of soft weeping echoed in the small stone cell.

It was cold, and Dali pulled the scratchy woolen blanket further around her shoulders. Surprising, to be offered any comfort. You might almost think these _marath'damane_ were civilised. But Dali didn't need to raise her eyes to see the _saidar-_woven shield that still blocked her from the Source, didn't need to look to the barred ceiling to know a finely-garbed _marath'damane_ glowed with the Power as she held the weave – as though Dali would ever dream of reaching for the Source unbidden.

She was in a nightmare.

Reflexively, Dali's hand came up to touch her neck, obscenely bare. She shuddered. The blanket hid her shame from the world, but the _damane_ couldn't forget for an instant that the collar that made her safe was gone. Where had they taken it? Could they not put it back on, if only to save themselves the effort of blocking her? But no. Dali felt her lips twist. They pretended kindliness, offered food and warmth, but this mockery showed that for the lie it was. Dali was uncollared. Dali was _marath'damane_. And the only thing protecting innocents and citizens from that horror was, ironically, the White Tower _marath'damane_ themselves. It was brilliant. And brutal. Small wonder Aiala wept.

Dali's own cheeks were tight with salt, but her eyes were dry. She had no more tears to shed. Malahavana: _sul'dam_, caregiver, guide and completion, Malahavana with her slow smile and unshakable devotion to duty, was dead. Dali had known when they set out that they might have been facing their last sunrise. She had prepared for death. But she had never thought that Malahavana might die, and Dali live. She had _sworn_ it would never be so.

Now Dali was a prisoner in a place out of her darkest dreams.

And she was alone.

The thickest blankets couldn't have stopped the shivers that were wracking her. It wasn't the cold, though the chill was noticeable in the little cell; it was terror. None of them could have imagined anything like this. Death, easily; you faced death on every battlefield, met her clear-eyed and ready. Capture, less likely – _damane_ were usually killed quickly in battle, the number of soldiers it would take to incapacitate them not usually being worth the loss. But even a captured _damane_ would be given kennel and _sul'dam_ by whoever laid claim to her. This, though? Confined in a cell, denied her collar, not even given the simple certainty of her new place? Hundreds of miles away from order and civilisation, from everyone and everything she knew? Buried in the centre of a maze of corridors that seethed with _marath'damane_, lost in a city of their barbarian servants? And undoubtedly presumed dead. There would be no raid to recover them. Dali wanted to scream. She closed her eyes, clenching her fists, fighting the nausea roiling in her middle. She would remain composed. She _would_.

Her breath rasped noisily in the tiny cell. She could smell clean straw and cellar-damp air. Even with her eyes closed, Dali could feel the _marath'damane_ channelling, above and to her left.

She tried to tell herself she had been in worse situations than this. The night of a hundred assassins, at Wahern, six years ago. Or Bevrahdin's treachery, those dark days when she had believed her Mistress dead. And others. Many others. This was not the worst.

But it felt like it. Dali just wanted to be _home!_ More than anything, she wanted to open her eyes and see her own familiar kennel. She longed to feel Malahavana's square hands stroking through her hair, to be soothed and told that all would be well. Even the sight of Perenla, her first _sul'dam_, a cold woman who had left her in terror, would now have been a sight to make her weep with joy.

Dali opened her eyes. The view had not changed.

She was wrong, she realised. There were more tears left in her, after all.

~/~

Four days passed without any change, and stretched thin with the tension of waiting Dali feared she would soon go mad.

There were two of them in the strange ceiling-barred cell. Aiala was a _damane_ Dali had fought beside twice and patrolled with several times since arriving on this side of the ocean. Usually she was fierce, barely waiting for her _sul'dam_'s instruction before launching an attack. But Benita's death had devastated her. Aiala had barely stopped weeping in the five days they had been in this cell, and though Dali's heart echoed her pain, the noise was starting to grate on her ears. But she did not have the strength to try and give comfort. What reassurance could she offer?

Whichever _marath'damane_ held the shield on Dali had one blocking Aiala too. This puzzled Dali – she could feel the strength of the _marath'damane_, and it was barely sufficient to weave two shields strong enough for the two of them, never mind hold them. Were they so arrogant that they thought their prisoners would not attempt escape?

(Well, they would _not_. Those flimsy shields were the only thing keeping them all safe. Likely it was some trick. These Aes Sedai – Dali shuddered at the name – were said to be subtle beyond imagining.)

_Marath'damane_ came and went. The shield was seldom held by the same woman for longer than half a day, but the mystery of the too-weak _marath'damane_ deepened whenever she first bothered to take notice of the changing of that duty. For the new _marath'damane_ did not weave a new shield and the old let hers dissipate. It was the _same_ shield, somehow passed between them. And that was _impossible_. After that first time, Dali always watched intently, trying to work out how it was done. But she could see nothing – save that the glow of the Power that surrounded any woman channeling somehow surrounded both _marath'damane_ at once. This was central to the mystery, she sensed. But she could make no more sense of it than that, and it gnawed at her.

Other _marath'damane_ would come and look at she and Aiala. Those ones made her skin crawl. Their eyes were sharp, considering. Sometimes they asked questions, as though Dali would speak to the likes of _them_. She never answered, and Aiala would hide her face in her hands and refuse to open her eyes until they had gone. Dali just tried to pretend they were yapping dogs, and to pay them as little heed. But oh, those _eyes_.

The nights were long. _Damane_ are trained to be able to sleep in the most uncomfortable conditions, and Dali could doze on the back of a horse, if need be. But always there had been _sul'dam_ close by, ready to listen to any dreams that might wake her and with a night-song to soothe her back into sleep.

It had never been like this. She had never been _alone_.

The fear would choke Dali whenever she tried to close her eyes. Even sharing blankets with red-eyed Aiala was little comfort. Their shared heat kept away the chill, but did nothing for the loneliness. She would think about the other _damane_, safe and happy. About her sister. Did Dani believe her dead, and mourn the sister who had been her companion since birth? Or would she know, somehow, in her heart, that Dali lived? They had been discouraged from such foolish notions, but Dali found herself longing for those old superstitions concerning twins to be true, just once. And the loss of Malahavana remained a searing soul-deep grief that would not lessen no matter how many tears Dali shed for it.

And in some ways, though the grief was wrenching, the boredom was worse. There was nothing to look at except those same stone walls – or the _marath'damane_, but Dali tried to avoid looking at them. Aiala would hardly stir from the corner she sat in. Sometimes Dali could hear other _damane_ crying in the cells close by, but no one ever spoke.

Dali was wondering whether they would be left in those cells forever, and whether death would be merciful enough to come quickly, on the day when things finally changed.

~/~

A _marath'damane_ entered, and Dali rolled up her eyes to watch as the shield was passed over. She still wanted to work out how that was done. But it was odd – she had never seen this _marath'damane_ before, and though unfamiliar ones did sometimes share the shield-duty, the current _marath'damane_ had only taken the shield an hour before. Was she being relieved already?

No. The sitting _marath'damane_ rose speedily, and made a deep obeisance. Not a bow, but similar, eyes down and body bent, a complicated motion involving her legs and skirts. She made it look graceful; Dali didn't understand how she didn't fall flat on her face. But she sat up straight, because though she had seen the _marath'damane_ treat each other with greater and lesser amounts of respect, she had never seen this. This one was important, then. Dali would remember her face, to point her out to the _sul'dam_ when the Tower was taken_._

Surprisingly, it was only a girl. She looked eighteen summers at most, pretty, with dark hair and eyes. But there was a sternness to her features, and those eyes missed nothing. Dali swallowed. She would not show fear, but...something about this one unnerved her more than the others. Why was she here? What did she want?

The _marath'damane_ looked at them for quite some time before she said anything. Dali's eyes darted around the cell, trying to avoid the scrutiny. Aiala had not even stirred, was slumped, eyes closed, in her corner. Dali had piled straw around her when dark fell the night before, and it had not yet been disturbed. Their pitcher of water, still half-full, sat in a little puddle of its own dew. The mortar between the brick walls of the cell was old and crumbling, but the pale bricks themselves still shone as if new.

"You need not stay in that cell." Dali jumped at the noise, shocking in the silence. She had not expected this _marath'damane_ to speak. "If you don't want to, that is."

Dali tried to close her ears. This _marath'damane_ had nothing to say but tricks and lies. She knew what Aes Sedai were like.

"You have been prisoners for your whole lives. You think it was right, natural. It was not."

And yet, Dali couldn't help glancing up at this _marath'damane_. Her words were nonsense, of course, but they rang with conviction. Her eyes were bright.

"That ends, now. The collars have gone, and you can be free. Free as you have never been, could never be, in Seanchan."

At this insult, Dali felt her fists clench. 'Free' – free to use the Power at their own whims, becoming tyrants, destroying lands and turning all into their property! None of these _marath'damane_ could ever understand the satisfaction of perfect obedience, of serving a cause greater than themselves! Mylen had tried to explain it to them, but even she admitted she had been wrong, that there was more freedom to be found in service than in selfishness.

But Dali looked up, and with an effort, held the dark eyes of the _marath'damane_ who thought to offer the very thing she had taken away.

"Free?" she asked. She didn't recognise her own voice, it cracked and rasped and her tongue felt like leather. It had been days since she had spoken. It felt like weeks.

"Yes." The _marath'damane_ said, a hint of a pleased smile around the corners of her mouth.

"If Dali is free..." the words came easier, "She can leave? Return home?"

The smile vanished, and Dali was left with an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. Almost guilt, as if she had given a displeasing answer to a question. Those eyes judged her, weighing and measuring. Her skin crawled.

"I would have every woman who can channel be a part of the White Tower." The _marath'damane_ said after a time. "But we do not force anyone to stay. If you wish, you may...leave."

With that, she turned and walked out, and Dali was left with her own whirling thoughts. Aiala had opened her eyes and was staring at her, shocked, but Dali gave barely any thought to the shame of having spoken to the _marath'damane_. Could it be true? The _marath'damane_, in the foolishness, were not going to keep them as prisoners, or kill them, but would let them return to the Empire?

No. This had to be some trick. Some plot.

_(Dali can go _home_?)_

But...how? If Dali was let out of her cell, where would she _go_? Malahavana had studied maps of this land, but Dali hadn't even glanced at them. What did _damane_ need with maps? The _sul'dam _told them everything they needed to know. Where _was_ Ebou Dar, from Tar Valon? Here they were, hundreds of miles away from civilisation, with no one to take them back - were they just to pick a direction and _walk_? What of all the people they might encounter, in danger at every moment, should one of them start channeling uncontrollably? Where would they get food, or lie to sleep?

The cleverness of the trap they were caught in became obvious to Dali, and she found herself laughing. It was an ugly sound, with no mirth in it. The _damane_ were now dependent on these insane _marath'damane. _They could leave, but would have nowhere to go. Or they could stay, and remain prisoners. And who knew what these _marath'damane_ could do? They might even find a way to turn Dali and the other loyal _damane_ and use them against the Empire. The thought tied her stomach in knots.

The scenarios chased themselves around and around in her head, but though she thought and thought, as day faded into night and lightened back to day, Dali could see no solution.

~/~


	2. Gambit

Chapter Two: Gambit

Dali's limbs were stiff, her legs shaky, but she paced determinedly in what little space the tiny cell offered. It wasn't so very small, really. It was larger than her kennel in Ebou Dar. But she'd never gone so long without being exercised, and her limbs were complaining the lack. She had tried to coax Aiala into some movement as well, but the other _damane_'s eyes were glassy and blank, they had just stared through her. Dali could not remember the last time she had spoken.

It had been over a day since the girl-_marath'damane_ had come with her offer, and Dali was no closer to seeing an escape from their trap. But she was certain there _was_ one, and the knowledge had lit a little spark of hope in her heart. The one thing Dali was certain of was that she would _not_ remain here. Somehow, though she could not imagine how, she was going to return to the Empire, to sanity and to purpose.

_Pace_. It was cold. The nights were bitter, and the days chill. _Pace_. Dali might know nothing of maps, but she knew that meant Tar Valon was to the north of Ebou Dar. _Pace_. It had taken five days by _to'raken_ to reach Tar Valon. That meant it was...how far away on foot?

Too far. Days-worth of frustration bubbled over, and Dali aimed a kick at their covered dirt-bucket before thinking better of it and attacking some innocent straw instead. Yellow stalks rained down around her legs, and Dali stared at them, shocked. How long had it been since she had last given in to temper? Dali was a good _damane_, not some girl just collared, still weeping and throwing tantrums! But fury still simmered in her veins, and she longed to lash out at something, anything. Everything was _wrong_, it wasn't _supposed_ to be like this! What business did a _damane_ have making plans? Where were the _sul'dam_ to tell her what to do? They were supposed to _protect_ her, not leave her to rot in some dungeon! _Where were they_?

The rage subsided and Dali slumped down into her pile of straw, hiding her face in her hands. Her face was hot with shame, and tears welled up in her eyes. How could she think something so awful? How could she curse the _sul'dam_ who had looked after her so well? It was this place - it was driving her mad, as she had feared it would. If only Dani were with her, she could have borne it, borne anything. But Dali was alone. She had never had to face anything alone.

_(What would Dani say?)_

_(She would say we are Dani-and-Dali and there is no enemy Dani-and-Dali cannot fight!)_

It was true. They had sometimes seemed to be of one mind. Not as _sul'dam_ and _damane_ were, sharing Power and sensation, two beings becoming one weapon. Nothing could compare to that. But When Dani fought beside her, Dali knew where the earth would explode even before Dani set the weave; Dali knew that if she spun Razorwhips, they would be aided by Dani's Firegouts; if Dani spun Spikes to the enemies' right flank, Dali knew to send the same to the left. Both of them could fight well paired with any _damane_, but with each other there was no need even to speak.

_Dani must be here_, Dali decided. _She is in Ebou Dar, but we are always Dani-and-Dali._

They could not speak now. But that did not matter. _Dani is with Dali._

The _sul'dam_would not have approved, but the thought was warm coal in her heart, and Dali opened her eyes and blinked away her tears. The cell looked the same as ever, but it was less fearful now, somehow.

She rose and made her way over to Aiala. The girl would fall ill soon, if she was not taken care of. The _marath'damane_ were ignorant, to look after them so poorly. Well, Dali would see Aiala drank some water, and share the warmth of her body.

She still had no idea how they were going to escape. But she would. Dani-and-Dali could do anything.

~/~

Dali stood up when the new _marath'damane_ came in to relieve the one who had sat the night-duty. Dawn was only a pale glimmer in the sky, but she had heard distant gongs; they rang several times a day, to announce the hour. The day had begun.

The _marath'damane_ looked over, surprise on their faces. Dali had never stood to greet them before, and for a moment, Dali worried that they might think she did them some honour. But she did not let it distract her. It had been surprisingly difficult to bring herself to speak to them at all. As the Empress' personal property, it would have been unusual enough for her to have spoken to a common _damane_, never mind a..._marath'damane_. But speak she must.

"You will let Dali out." She told them.

They blinked at her as though she had spoken nonsense. Dali gritted her teeth. Would she have to repeat herself? Some of those on this side of the ocean couldn't seem to understand perfectly clear speech.

No. The _marath'damane_ exchanged glances, and with a murmur, the one who had just entered took the shield from the other, and sat down on the stool. The one who had stood the night-watch left. Neither of them spoke a word to Dali.

She couldn't believe it. The _marath'damane_ had given her _word!_Before witnesses! Surely, even Aes Sedai could not be this...this dishonest! After she had _forced_ herself to speak to them! Dali stood, rooted to the spot, near to shaking with indignation, staring at the remaining _marath'damane_.

They would not let her leave? After swearing that they would?

Well, Dali had sworn no oath. They would not let her leave? _Try to stop her!_ One _marath'damane_ was not enough to hold a shield on two _damane_ of any strength. Confident of victory, Dali stretched out to the Source, expecting to tear through the feeble shield like a rotten sail. She would rip the bars out of the cell, and the stones out the wall, and the Light preserve any who put themselves in her path!

Dali grunted with surprise when she struck a shield stronger than any she had ever felt. Even Sera couldn't have spun a block this thick, and she was one of the strongest _damane_ Dali had ever met! Heart chilling, Dali tried again to fill herself with the Power, but no matter how she strained, the shield never wavered. Icy fear filled her belly, as it had not for many days; she had watched these _marath'damane_ come and go for days, and had almost forgotten that they were _Aes Sedai_. She remembered, in a flash, the tales she had been frightened with as a child – how Aes Sedai had been able to call old, dark powers. The terrible secrets they had guarded, things best forgotten. But if even weak Aes Sedai could spin weaves stronger than anything Dali had ever felt...

Dali _had_ to escape! They had badly underestimated these _marath'damane_, and a warning _had_ to be carried back to the _Corenne_!

The _marath'damane_ felt her attempts, of course. Her eyes first widened, then narrowed, fixing Dali like spearpoints. The _damane_ wavered and tried to swallow, but her mouth was now as dry as dust. Determined to retain at least some composure, she turned, staring at the pale wall of her cell. Her heart was racing. She hadn't been this terrified since her first day in this cell.

Dali did not reach for the Source again. She could feel the eyes of the _marath'damane_ boring into her back. Staring at her. And the Light alone knew what else.

(_No escape_)

With her face hidden, Dali did not feel shame when she could not stop the tears from coming. She had been so _sure_ – even with no idea of what to do or where to go, she had still known that the first step must be to leave this cell. But she had been stopped before she could even begin. Would she never see home again? Would these cold walls be the last sight she ever saw?

(_Will Dali be here_forever?)

Defeat was a bitter taste in her mouth, and Dali paid no attention when the door swung open again. A servant to bring the _marath'damane_ tea, likely. Soft footsteps sounded across the stone floor.

"So. One of them speaks?"

Dali started, and couldn't stop herself from looking around. It wasn't a servant, but a _marath'damane_, wearing fine yellow silk.

"That one, Rosil." The sitting _marath'damane_ indicated Dali, and she felt her heart clench in her chest. "And she wasn't happy when we didn't open the door on the instant," she added, a sneer in her voice. "Tried to break through the shield."

Oh _Light_. Dali cursed her own stupidity in even speaking to the _marath'damane_. What was going to happen now? What did this new _marath'damane_want with them? What hideous Aes Sedai trap had she entangled herself in? Her back thumped the cold wall of the cell, but there was no escape from those eyes. _Light be merciful, Dali will be a good_damane, _a good_ damane –

"Really? She doesn't look like she wants to go anywhere." The _marath'damane_ sounded doubtful, though with their accents, it was difficult to tell. "Well, girl?" she addressed Dali. "Do you want to stay where you are, or are you ready to come out and make something of yourself?"

Dali blinked.

_(What?)_

Was she hearing things?

The _marath'damane_ was looking at her, waiting for a response.

_(The Aes Sedai will keep their word?)_

Dali met the eyes of the _marath'damane_ who had spoken to her. She felt as though her muscles had been replaced with wooden boards, but somehow, she was able to manage a jerky nod. Her legs wanted to buckle.

The _marath'damane_ smiled. Dali felt her blood turn to ice. _This is a trap!_ Her mind howled. _Aes Sedai! You cannot trust Aes Sedai!_

But there was no choice. Not if Dali was to return home.

The door to the cell opened at the top. The _marath'damane_ channeled, and a section of the bars opened along an invisible hinge. They screeched horribly.

Ropes of Air appeared around Dali's middle and under her arms. She yelped, terrified, and tried to pull away. They were going to pull her out with the Power, as though fishing a barrel out of the ocean? She felt sick. No, please – a ladder, a rope, not this –

Aiala screamed.

Dali, already badly frightened, shrieked herself when the other _damane_ flung herself bodily out of the corner she had hardly left, and wrapped herself around Dali's legs. Her grip was like iron. Dimly, she heard the _marath'damane_ curse softly, but she was consumed with trying to pry Aiala's hands from around her knees. The girl was babbling, sobbing, and Dali could only just make her out.

"Don't leave Aiala alone, _please_ don't leave Aiala, Aiala will be a good _damane,_Aiala will take the exercise and eat the food but _please_don't –"

"Aiala –" Dali tried to interrupt, but the other _damane_ was beyond listening. She was hysterical.

The ropes of Air dissolved, and Dali was able to crouch and wrap her arms around the other girl. Aiala was shaking. She smelled of too many days without washwater, and her eyes were huge and terrified. "Don't go, please don't leave Aiala alone," she kept whimpering, and nothing Dali could say would soothe her.

_Come with me_, Dali wanted to say. But one look at Aiala's fear-sickly face was enough to tell her that the other _damane_ would not be able to walk five steps beyond this cell. She did not understand. A good _damane_ waited for her _sul'dam_, but they would wait forever if Dali did not –

"– will be a good _damane,_please Dali, please Dali –"

_Dali must go_, she kept repeating, and _Dali will bring_sul'dam_, Aiala will not be alone_, but every time Dali managed to pull one hand from around her legs, the other wrapped around them again, like twistvine. It took the _marath'damane_ weaving Air to pull Aiala off for long enough to lift Dali out of the cell, and when she did the other _damane_ fell to the floor and clutched great handfuls of straw and howled, a harrowing wail of desperation and misery. It was a sound to haunt nightmares.

The barred door fell shut with a clang, making Dali jump. She was trembling, flinching at every one of Aiala's cries, and her throat was dry with fear. Light, maybe it would have been better to wait for rescue, because Dali had no idea, _no idea_ what she was going to do next, and the _marath'damane_ were both looking at her, weighing her up. This had all been a mistake, a huge mistake, and Dali was the greatest fool who had ever lived for thinking she could play with these Aes Sedai schemes. They were going to do something terrible, Dali _knew_ it –

The shield vanished.

Dali's knees buckled and she nearly fell. The yellow-clad _marath'damane_ caught her, and Dali flinched back from the touch, stumbling back towards the cell. No. _No_, they could not do that, they could not leave her unprotected, surely they would tie it, at the least, but they could not mean to leave her unshielded! Horror and panic tore at Dali, her breaths coming fast. Black spots were dancing in front of her eyes.

_(Is Dali a good_damane_?)_

A familiar voice. An old memory.

Dali closed her eyes. Maybe she could pretend the shield was still there. She could still feel channeling. Yes.

_(Always a good_damane_?)_

Her breaths steadied. Not _marath'damane._Dali was not _marath'damane_.

An image bloomed, shockingly vivid. Tuon, when she had still been Tuon, after testing for _sul'dam_, learning her _damane_. Her worst lesson, one Dali had tried not to remember. But it reared up now, and the violence of it stole Dali's awareness of the room, the _marath'damane_.

There was only memory. And tears.

~/~

A good day. Sunny. A wonderful, carefree hour spent spinning harmless weaves and playing children's games.

Tuon, garbed in pale blue silk, toying with the bracelet of the _a'dam_ that was fastened around her wrist.

Dali, curled her her feet, revelling in the attention. Eager, brimming with adoration and pleasure.

_(Is Dali a good damane? Will she always obey?)_

_(Yes__!) _Earnest, devoted. _(__Dali will always obey!)_

The Highest Daughter had taken off the bracelet, then, and fixed Dali with those dark eyes that saw so much.

(_Dali will not channel, now, will she?)_

_(Of course Dali will not channel!)_ Surprised. Baffled.

_(Why not?)_

_(Dali cannot!)_

_(Close your eyes)_

Dali obeyed. She felt small, warm hands touch her throat.

A sharp click sounded. The collar fell from around her throat. Dali's eyes opened wide with horror.

_(And will my Dali channel now?)_

Tuon sounded unconcerned. Untroubled, merely curious.

_(Put it back__.__)_

Dali's throat was as dry as sand. Her hands flew, tried to snatch back the collar. Tuon held it out of reach.

_(Will Dali channel?)_

_(Please put it back!)_

She was going to be sick. Dali was uncollared, not two feet away from the Highest Daughter, her mistress, with nothing to hold her back from – from –

_(Why is Dali not channeling?)_

_(Dali__ will _not!)

"Dali will _not!_"

_(Dali is a good damane. Always my good damane. Isn't she?)_

_(Yes!)_

_Click._

The collar fastened tight around her neck again and Dali had collapsed, weak with terror, limp with relief. She hadn't been able to stop crying. Tuon had stroked her hair, and hummed some tuneless song, waiting for the shivers to stop wracking her _damane_, waiting for her tears to stop.

It was a very long time until Dali was quiet once more, and longer still until Tuon spoke.

_(You would not have channeled, Dali, though you could have. Do you know how I know that?)_

_(No__.__)_

_(Because I commanded you not to.)_

Her eyes had seemed to fill the world.

(_And Dali is a good_damane_. Always.)_

_~/~_

Dali came back to herself with a gasp. That had been a lesson she had put out her mind and tried to forget. It had left her terrified, sick, unable to leave her kennel for days, and still unsettled her to think about, even years later. She had always thought that there had to have been some other way to impart the lesson that she must be loyal, always, no matter the circumstances.

It was only now, hundreds of miles away from the Empress Fortuona, that she understood what Tuon had been trying to teach her.

Dali did not obey because she had to. She obeyed because she _chose_ to.

_Dali will not channel_.

Still shaking, Dali opened her eyes. They had filled with tears and the two _marath'damane_ were little more than blurs, but she was able to straighten from her crouch, and wipe away the tears with the sleeve of her grey dress. The two women were watching her carefully, the light of _saidar_ still bright around them both, and Dali realised this had been a test for them, too. To see if she could be trusted without a shield. If she _had_ tried to channel, she would likely have been cut off again an instant later, before she could have hurt anybody.

It was a relief. But Dali was proud, because it had not been necessary.

_Dali will not channel._

Her nose had run, and Dali knew her eyes were red, her face blotchy. She was not composed. It did not matter, of course, not before only _marath'damane_. But she would be better, in future. Grief and fear had clouded her mind, but the _marath'damane_ could not take away who she was. Dali was the property of the Empress Fortuona, and would do her honour – even here, hundreds of miles away. Even on the far side of the world!

The one in the yellow dress beckoned curtly for Dali to follow, and wavering on wobbly legs, Dali did. She felt as though she was walking in a dream – frightened, but also somehow elated. _Home!_She had no idea where they were going – up several flights of steep steps that Dali faintly remembered being pushed down, many days past. She had been too numb with shock and grief to pay any attention, then. Now she noticed that they were made out of the same white stone that had made up the walls of her cell. It seemed to make up this whole tower. Was that why they called it the 'White Tower'?

The _marath'damane_ never spoke or looked back, obviously certain that Dali would be following. The presumption stung – all the more because Dali knew she was right, she could not attempt escape yet. She had no idea where she was.

They walked further, along many corridors. Bare stone and unadorned, at first, but Dali could tell that they were still moving upwards. Six turns later, rough-woven carpet appeared. Stand-lamps were set at intervals, and recesses held flame torches and candles. Dali wrinkled her nose as she passed one of the stand-lamps; its oil was rancid. A few corridors later, another, and another. Dali allowed herself to sneer at the _marath'damane_'s back. These Aes Sedai - they might be wealthy and influential, but they lived in the filth like the marsh-rats.

The corridors grew abruptly plain and bare again, and went from having been nearly empty to bustling with women in white dresses – and every one a _marath'damane_. They bobbed those ridiculous complicated bows to the one leading Dali as they passed. Most ignored Dali, seemingly rushing to be elsewhere. Some eyed her suspiciously, or with contempt and hatred, or with what looked like pity. Dali forcibly ignored _all_of them. Her brief euphoria collapsed into sickening fear. Light, to be so close to this many _marath'damane_, it made her want to crawl into a hole and hide! She refused to let them see how terrified she was , but oh _Light_, if she had known there were this _many_ of them, she would never have slept a minute, not even in a barred and guarded cell. Dali was one of the best battle-_damane_ in the Empire, had long mastered all the weaves of war, but even if ten Dali's had been beside her, this many _marath'damane_ could have crushed them. Did the Empress know just how many _marath'damane_ there were in this White Tower? Yes, of course she must.

_They will serve the Empire soon_, Dali told herself. _And with their strength, the_Corenne _will be unstoppable_.

It was with relief that Dali followed the _marath'damane_ into a small, dark-panelled room and closed the door behind her. The corridors outside might be seething with _marath'damane_, but there was only one in this room, and Dali was stronger than she. A little relief. But the thought of being among all those _marath'damane_ again, even to depart the White Tower, was chilling.

_They will serve the Empire_, Dali told herself again. It was not much of a comfort. They were not serving it yet.

The _marath'damane_ had seated herself at a dark wooden desk and opened a large, age-spotted book. It was a strange room – small, and dominated by a large mirror. A cabinet in the corner completed the furnishings. There was no other chair, not that Dali would have sat if there had been. Somehow she had expected more luxury.

The _marath'damane_ looked up from the book. There was pen and ink beside her. Dali understood. There was always paperwork. But her words, when she spoke, turned Dali to ice.

"You want to leave. I am afraid you cannot, yet."

_(No. They cannot break their word. Not after all this!)_

"The White Tower forces no woman to stay who does not want to remain." She said calmly, as though her words were not the greatest of hypocrisy. "But once a girl has begun to channel, she cannot simply be let loose until she has learned to control _saidar_. She would be a danger to everyone around her."

Dali shook her head. Not in disagreement – the _marath'damane_ were not utter fools, it seemed – but at the direction this reasoning was going. They had _told_ Dali she could leave! Dali _must_ return!

The _marath'damane_ leaned forward and fixed Dali's eyes with her own. She did not look mild now. She looked as stern and authoritative as any _der'sul'dam_. Dali swallowed, and straightened her back, fighting the urge to drop her eyes. It was a struggle.

"You _damane_ have never gone a day controlling your own Power. Those _collars_ -" She growled the word with disgust and Dali bristled. "have restrained your channeling from the beginning."

Of _course_, they had, that was the _purpose_ of them! Oh, Dali knew this had been a bad idea. A scheme was now being spun around her, and she was helpless to stop it. What price were they going to ask of her? Dali would _not_ betray the Empire!

"To us, you are like girls newly come to the spark. And yet, you are far more dangerous than any half-blocked wilder. If you lose control," she bit out, "You will _kill_ people. We cannot take that risk."

Crushed with disappointment, Dali could only stare. The _damane_ would remain prisoners because _marath'damane_ were dangerous? What kind of twisted logic was that? She opened her mouth to protest, but the _marath'damane_ spoke over her.

"Therefore, if you want to leave the White Tower, you will have to prove that you are capable of controlling _yourself_. Do you understand?"

The _marath'damane_ had some parts right, but she had it all backwards. Of course, most _damane_, like Aiala or Jussi or many of the others – if they were sent on their way now, unshielded and uncollared...it did not bear thinking about. But what this _marath'damane_spoke of just wasn't possible – the Power was addictive, every _damane_ knew that from the first day they channeled. Once you touched it, you wanted to draw more, and more, and uncollared you would fill yourself with so much that you would explode and destroy all around you. The _a'dam_ prevented that, giving control of the Power to the _sul'dam_, thus removing the temptation. All _damane_ knew that. It was the greatest gift their _sul'dam_ gave them: the delight of _saidar,_ freed from the horror of its destruction.

(_and yet the Aes Sedai have no_sul'dam_, and survive.)_

But this did not matter. "This one will not channel." She told the _marath'damane_. "She promises. So Dali can leave now."

The _marath'damane_'s lips pursed, dissatisfied. "That will not be enough, I am afraid. You will stay in the Tower until we are sure that you are safe to be allowed to leave." Dali's protest was ignored. "Now, as you must learn to control your channeling, it is only appropriate that you be put in white. You will take lessons with the other novices."

"Dali _will not!_" she snapped at the _marath'damane_, her temper fraying. This was madness! She would _not_ stay here! It was plain that they wanted to corrupt her, but though Dali had no fear for her loyalty, these were Aes Sedai. Who knew what they could do?

The _marath'damane_ raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to leave, or do you not? This is the only way. Either we are assured that you are no danger, or you return to the open cells."

With that, the trap snapped closed around her, and Dali knew there was no way out. She had tried to play in these Aes Sedai schemes, and been hopelessly caught in their web instead. She was a fool.

_But Dani is with Dali_, she reminded herself. _They do not know that. We are not helpless. We will find a way out._

The Aes Sedai wanted her to stay. They had some plan for her, and Dali did not know what. She closed her eyes. She briefly wished she was still in the cell, considered asking to return.

But no. 'The battle begun must be fought to the end' was one of Malahavana's wise phrases. Dali was weak, but Dani was with her, and she fought for the Empress. She would do whatever was necessary to return home.

"What must Dali do?" she asked at last, shoulders slumped in defeat.

The _marath'damane_ smiled a thin smile. "I will write your name in the novice book. Our rules and expectations will be explained to you, and then you can begin proving that you are ready to be allowed to leave." Well, Dali would not channel, but how long would it _take_?

She picked up the pen, dipped the nib in the ink. "What is your name?" she asked.

Were these _marath'damane_ fools? She had told them plenty of times. "This one is called Dali." she repeated, careful to speak slowly and clearly.

The _marath'damane_ did not write down the name.

"No." She said thoughtfully. "That was your name when you were _damane_. When you were a piece of property, when all decisions were made for you. You are a novice now, and a free woman. That name is not suitable. You should choose another."

The words hit Dali like a hammer-blow. If her vow not to channel hadn't been at the forefront of her mind, she might have struck the _marath'damane_ dead right then. As it was, she shook with the urge to choke the life out of her with her bare hands – pure violent rage, from a _damane_, trained never to think of so much as touching a weapon. At the look on her face, the _marath'damane_ actually leaned back. She was a fool not to have run out the door. Rage flared, hot and red, and Dali felt every muscle tense to snapping.

The _presumption!_ The unbelievable _gall_! How _dare_ the _marath'damane_ even _think_of telling Dali she would need to choose a new name! Would they have her shave her head, too, and put on a silk robe? She was _property_! She did not even _have_ a name, save what it pleased her _sul'dam_ to call her! Citizens had names, and could earn higher ones through bravery or accomplishment. But a _damane,_ choose a new name? Even the _idea_ of stepping above herself so far was nauseating.

"_No!"_ The sound was an animal's snarl.

The _marath'damane_'s eyes went wide. She had not been expecting this response? The _dirt-eating, pig-swilling –_Dali had tried to be polite, but some things could not be tolerated, some things –

"You – you _Aes Sedai¸_you choose whatever name you want, you change it twice a day, and grant yourself all the honours you can dream of – and you do _not_deserve – honour is _earned_, not _taken_ – and Dali will _not_, Dali will _never –"_

The _marath'damane_ recovered her voice. "You will _not_ speak to an Aes Sedai like –"

"You put Dali back in the cell. Fill the cell with bricks! You will _kill_ Dali before she will –"

"Be silent!"

Dali snapped her mouth closed, and tried to stop herself committing murder. She was breathing hard, twitching with the urge to do violence. Surely the _sul'dam_would understand if she killed this one. Surely they wouldn't punish her too much. How _dare_she!

The _marath'damane_ recovered her smooth face. "This is a Seanchan custom, then? Names are important?"

Dali hissed through gritted teeth. It had been a mistake to even _speak_ to these creatures, she _knew_ it would be. "You ask Dali to choose a higher name. As though she was of the Blood itself. You _dare!_"

"The Blood...your nobility?" Dali didn't know what that was. "Your rulers, your high ones?"

Perhaps the _marath'damane_ was merely ignorant. But some things could be overlooked, and some could not. "Yes." Dali bit out. "The Blood, and the High Blood, and the Imperial Family – do you know _nothing_?"

"Our ignorance is regrettable." The _marath'damane_ said smoothly. Dali wanted to crack that marble face with her fists. "But I must insist. You cannot continue to act as though you are _damane_, here." Her eyes fixed Dali, sharp and arrows. "_Damane_ are very dangerous. We could never let one loose."

Dali was shaking with both rage and panic. The Aes Sedai was not even trying to pretend to hide her intentions – they planned to corrupt Dali, to turn her into a cruel, selfish _marath'damane_ like them! But despite her furious words, she did not want to return to the cell, to an unknown fate. She _had_ to go home, had to find a way, and if it meant playing these Aes Sedai games...

(_But how far must Dali go? A new name!_)

And then, it came to her, and only luck let her catch herself in time to hold back laughter. These Aes Sedai were ignorant. They did not know her, and would not know a name of honour from a string of nonsense. But Dali would not even have to choose a new name. She could simply tell them who she was.

But she did not speak at once, making a show of controlling her breathing and calming herself down from her rage. In truth, it had been swept away in the first moments of her plan, but she tried to pretend she was still angry. It was difficult. _Damane_ never lied to their _sul'dam_, and Dali was quite out of the habit of pretending anything, but she tried her best. The _marath'damane_ kept looking at her, making Dali swallow in quite real nervousness.

Finally, her face was smooth, her fists unclenched. "...Dali will." She said at last, trying to sound reluctant. The _marath'damane_ smiled a thin, satisfied smile.

"And what name will I put down for you, child?" she asked.

Dali looked at her hands. They were identical to another pair, hundreds of miles away.

"Danidali." She said.

~/~


	3. Escape

Chapter Three – Escape

~/~

Dali made her escape on the very first night.

She had been astonished to find herself led to a room with no lock on the door and no sign of any guards nearby. Inside was plain and small. Dali found herself liking it. It would have made a good kennel – perhaps still would, after the White Tower was taken, if they did not raze the whole building to the ground.

But the room, pleasant as it was, was right in the middle of what was called the Novice Well. It was made up of hundreds of these little rooms spread out over a dozen levels, each room housing a _marath'damane__, _like an enormous hive of poisonous stingbees. They scurried up and down corridors, shouting and making noise and _channeling_, Dali could feel them channeling _constantly_. She knew she would never be able to sleep here, surrounded by them. She didn't think she would even be able to close her eyes until she was miles away from the place. So, moments after being shown to the little room by yet another _marath'damane_, Dali had resolved to escape as soon as she could. Tonight, while they slept.

Unfortunately, it was still early morning. Dali had been told that she was excused morning 'classes' but was to report to the kitchens at High for chores. And if she was to avoid suspicion long enough to escape in the night, Dali would have to obey. Which meant being around _marath'damane_, close enough to touch, for however many hours the duty lasted. The thought tied her stomach in knots.

Could she escape now, she wondered? But as much as she longed to make the attempt, she knew it was foolish and might cost her her best chance. There were too many _marath'damane_, Aes Sedai and those younger ones, the novices, the Aes-Sedai-in-training, and any one could give the alarm. Dali could not escape from a dungeon cell, that was certain. Whatever the _marath'damane_ did, however much they terrified her, she would simply have to bear it.

_We can bear it_, she thought, and smiled. The trick that had seen her take her sister's name had made her feel especially close to Dani.

Humming, Dali walked across the little room and sat down on the bed. She bounced a little, then winced. It was not soft. After being chosen as one of the Empress' personal _damane_, she had been spoiled, she admitted. Softer bedding, tastier food, even toys! Dali shook her head ruefully. She would appreciate those things all the more when she returned, and tell her Mistress so. Her dress, at least, was little different, though it made her itch to be wearing a colour that was not grey. But the dress was of modest cut, white wool and unadorned. She had been afraid she would be expected to wear silk, like the _marath'damane_, Rosil, Mistress of Novices. But all novices wore these plain white dresses, apparently, and they lived very simply, under strict discipline. That was reassuring. It was not so different to being _da'covale_.

The _marath'damane_ Rosil had stared, horrified, at her raven tattoos, while she was undressing. Dali had never had cause to show them to anybody, but she was fiercely proud of them now. They had taken her collar, and the grey dress of her station, but they could not take those. The mark of Imperial property, inked into her skin, everlasting. How that had hurt! But the _der'sul'dam _Melitene had held her hands and soothed her through the pain, and Dali was so glad to bear them, now that she was so far from everything else she knew.

And the Light willing, she would return soon. Dali still had very little idea of how to return to Ebou Dar, but she thought that if she could get outside the Tower, she could orientate herself. She remembered their flight on _raken-_back, knew the direction they had come from. Surely, all that was required was to follow that path backwards. As for food and shelter...perhaps she could ask the citizens she met, once she was many miles from Tar Valon. They could surely direct her to the soup-kitchens in the towns she would pass through, and Dali was not so spoiled that she could not sleep under a hedge, if need be. It might take many days, but Dali would make her way back. She _would_.

Lost in dreams of home, Dali barely noticed the passing of time. The bell ringing High shook her out of her thoughts, and panicking, she leaped up from the bed and bolted out of the door. At any other time, she would have had to spend long minutes steeling herself to go among the throng of _marath'damane_. But the sound of the bell was a warning that she was already late.

~/~

Many hours later, Dali lay back on the same hard bed, with knots in her stomach and limbs that felt like lead. The day had been like a bad dream – the kind you couldn't wake from. The kitchens, when she had found them, had been hot, filled with the steam of dozens of bubbling pots, the heat from an entire wall of ovens, and the sweat of the countless servants and _marath'damane_ labouring there. Her task had been simple – scrubbing potatoes for boiling – but the sacks of potatoes had been deep, and on finishing she had been directed to the pantry to fetch yet more. All the while, servants had been shouting and _marath'damane_ had been whispering sneakily, or pinching, or tricking each other in some manner that had Dali trying to watch every way at once and flinching anytime one looked her way.

The kitchens were run by a woman called Laras, and Dali had been terrified of her from the moment she laid eyes on her. She was an immense, lumbering _lopar_ of a woman with who could see out of the back of her head and had no hesitation in lashing about with that great wooden spoon she carried. Luckily Dali had not earned her wrath, but some of the _marath'damane_ had not been so lucky and now wore the bruises. Though how a woman who could not channel was able to strike one who could, and not be destroyed where she stood, Dali did not understand.

But the kitchens had been pleasant compared to what came next. Dali had been informed she had a 'lesson', and was herded into a room with two dozen novice-_marath'damane_. They had looked at her then, tried to speak, and when she refused to answer – she could not have, in simple truth, her terror at being trapped in a room with them had dried her mouth to uselessness – they had sneered at her, laughed, teased.

It had been a long time since anyone had laughed at Dali.

The _marath'damane_ who taught had been young herself, and wore a dress as plain as any of the novices, though it had coloured stripes on the sleeves and the hem of the dress. She spent what felt like hours doing nothing but talking about buds and streams and jugs of water and cups of tea. Somehow, this was meant to teach the _marath'damane_ to channel – though if this was the teaching, no wonder they made such poor fighters. When Dali and Dani had been collared, in their fifteenth year, their _sul'dam_ had guided their weaving for many months until its full strength had been built. After that, learning to form the weaves by themselves had come easily. These _marath'damane_, lacking _a'dam_, apparently had to fumble it all out anew each time. So inefficient! She might have felt sorry for them had she not realised, shortly into the lesson, that the girls around her were so new to _saidar_ that at any moment one of them might lose control of it entirely and kill them all. After that, Dali had sat quaking in her seat, sweat beading on her brow and her stomach twisting every time the glow of channeling flickered around one of the _marath'damane_.

It was madness. They were all _insane_.

Dali could have wept with relief on returning to the little room she liked to think of as her kennel. To solitude. It had been quiet – the novices were at their evening meal, but Dali had seen the dining-hall, and she would rather starve than sit down in a hall surrounded by hundreds of _marath'damane_. Instead, she had come back to the room, and lain down on the bed, trying to ignore the growling of her stomach, longing helplessly for home.

She thought about visiting Aiala. But in truth, she was too ashamed. Aiala would never understand. She would think Dali had turned, gone over to the Aes Sedai, betrayed them. It was not true! But Dali could never explain it to her. Aiala was a good _damane_, but though she had loved her _sul'dam_ and was loyal to the Empire, she did not understand that sometimes loyalty meant doing dishonourable things. Like pretending to accept, to lull the Aes Sedai. Like lying, and plotting.

Dali was a good _damane_ too. And it was her loyalty that had driven her to make these unthinkable choices. They were not in the Empire any more, where there were rules that everyone obeyed. They were in wild, lawless lands, facing a terrible enemy, and no one was coming to rescue them. Unimaginable as it was, Dali would have to rescue herself if she ever wanted to see the Empire again.

She would be punished when she returned. Dali knew she would. _Damane_ were not supposed to do these things. But she would take any punishment joyfully if it was the Empress, may she live forever, ordering it.

_Marath'damane_ started to return, scurrying up the endless stairs, chattering and gossiping and always, now here now there, there was the feel of channeling. Dali lay on the bed and willed the time to go faster. Her limbs cried out for rest, but though her eyes were heavy, she could not relax enough to sleep. There was no lock on the door. They could come pouring in at any moment while she was asleep and helpless.

Not that she could put up much of a fight anyway. _Dali will not channel_.

But the Light was merciful and though _marath'damane_ passed back and forth in front of her door many times, none tried to enter. Some hours later, the ever-present sound of them suddenly started to fade, and Dali knew that it was the sleep-hour. Soon, she could begin her escape. But she would have to be quiet. Novices were not supposed to be out of their rooms after the last bell, and even if she was not recognised as a Seanchan her escape would be doomed if she was spotted and sent for punishment. _Dali must be careful_.

Finally, long after the last novice was in her room, and the feel of channeling had stopped, Dali rose. She was stiff after lying for so long, and she took a moment to stretch. Hunger made her a little lightheaded, and she almost wished she had braved the dining-hall, but a long drink from the wash-pitcher settled her a little. Still, Dali was dissatisfied. She would never ordinarily have had to undertake a mission in such a state, but she did not have _sul'dam_ to look after her now. She must do her best. _And Dani is with Dali_.

Carefully, Dali eased open the door and peered both ways along the corridor outside. There was no one to be seen. Silently, she slipped out, and crept away into the night.

~/~

Dali flattened herself against a pale stone wall, heart pounding. Getting out of the novice well had been harder than she had expected – it was patrolled. But the sweeps had been half-hearted, routine, and Dali had been able to avoid them. It had not been until she left the novice well and entered the main levels of the Tower that things had started to become...difficult.

She had assumed that all the _marath'damane_ would be asleep. She had been wrong. In four corridors she had dodged three Aes Sedai, the last by only a hair, and of course the servants were not asleep. They did much of their work at night. How could she have been so foolish as to overlook servants?

Pathetically disguised behind a corner of a tapestry, Dali listened to the receding footsteps and tried not to let her teeth chatter. If the _marath'damane_ had turned her head she would have seen Dali for sure. If she had taken the right turning instead of carrying on, nothing could have stopped her from seeing that the tapestry hung unnaturally, and investigating. The Light had shone on Dali, but such luck could not continue.

She stepped out from behind the tapestry and crept cautiously to the junction, ears straining for the sound of footsteps. Two corridors crossed here, and Dali could take any of three paths. Only two went in the direction she was trying to go in, though, and of those, she would have preferred the one the Aes Sedai had just passed down.

Dali had no idea of where she was going, save that she had to reach the ground levels if she wanted to find an exit. But she had not realised just how _big_ the Tower was. The corridors stretched and wound endlessly. Luckily, there were windows, so Dali had some idea of her progress. But it was slow. Too slow.

_Long odds_¸ Malahavana would have said.

Dali agreed with her. This plan would never work. She needed another.

The silence pressed down on her, scraping her nerves thin. Her mind searched frantically for an idea, a solution. Anything. A disguise? If she killed a servant and took her clothing, could she pass for long enough to find her way out? But she had never killed anyone with her hands before. The thought made her feel sick.

_Stop being a jellylegs!_ It was the kind of thing Dani would have said. This was certainly no time for cowardice. But it was a poor plan. Any _marath'damane_ who passed her would feel her ability to channel. It was a disguise that would fool only the eyes.

A distraction? Could she set a fire, and when all hands were occupied putting it out, make her escape? It was not a bad idea, except that Dali still had no idea where 'out' was.

_This is impossible_, she finally acknowledged, despairing. It has seemed simple in the beginning, but the Tower was a maze. Dali would need to learn it before she could hope to escape from it. Heart sinking, she wondered how long _that _would take.

(_Dali must return__._)

She had to go back to the novice well. She would have to do the chores and go to the _lessons_ – the thought made her skin crawl – for long enough to solve this maze of a Tower. Otherwise she would be caught before the night was out and put back in the dungeon.

Feet dragging with reluctance, Dali turned back along the corridor she had just come up. She could find her way back, at least. She was fairly sure she knew her way back.

Turn left. Freeze, sending prayers to the Light, as footsteps sounded in the distance. Coming closer, then receding again. Continue straight on, trying to calm the racing of her heart. Turn left. Was it left? These corridors all looked so similar. Turn...right. And right again. The novice wells couldn't be more than a few corridors away.

A door opened, shockingly close. Dali stood like stone, rooted to the spot. It closed again, and heavy footsteps echoed along the corridor, only one turn from where she stood.

Dali fled. She ran as hard as she ever had, and unhindered by the leash and another runner alongside she was faster than ever. She bolted like a hare, dodging blindly down corridors, paying no attention to where she was going. Dali needed to _get away_, that was all that mattered. She had to –

She rounded a corner and crashed into another body, sending both of them sprawling. She yelped, and the other person shouted, and the sound was like the boom of a drum, shocking in the silence, surely drawing every ear for _miles._ Sucking in terrified breaths, Dali stared at the tiled floor in front of her face. She had landed badly. There was a stabbing hurt in her wrist.

"What are you _doing_?" a voice hissed, and Dali jerked up, flinching away. Her eyes confirmed what she had felt. A _marath'damane_, and she was furious. _Caught!_ A little voice wailed inside her head. Dali prepared to launch herself at the _marath'damane_. She had to incapacitate her before she could raise the alarm. Before she could channel. _Light save Dali! _She tensed to spring.

"Edie!" another voice cried, and another _marath'damane_ rounded a corner at the far end of the corridor. _Too late_, the voice sang despondently, and Dali sagged. She could not defeat two of them. There was no escape now.

"What happened – who's that?"

Why was she whispering?

"I don't know!" the first one hissed back. "She came around that corner like she had ten trollocs behind her! We must have woken _everyone_!" She scowled down at Dali.

"Come on, then!" the second _marath'damane_ urged her, and Dali finally realised why they were being so furtive. They wore white dresses. They were novices, and just as forbidden from wandering the halls as she. _Not Aes Sedai!_ It was a relief. A small relief. They would not run to tell of her transgression. Would they? What exactly were they doing outside their kennels, long after the final bell?

Warily, Dali rose, and eyed them. The second one was fussing over her friend, the one she'd called Edie, and once she was satisfied she was not injured, she turned to Dali. "Are you coming or not?" she asked her. "Someone's bound to have heard that – we're not getting in trouble because _you_ got caught!"

Dali shook her head, too afraid to speak. She wanted nothing to do with any _marath'damane, _and these rulebreaking ones even less. As though to mock her, a door opened somewhere close by.

Together they ran. The two of them made a terrible noise, racing down the corridors like a pair of stampeding horses, and Dali cursed her ill-fortune. But somehow, they were not caught. She had not thought she would ever be _relieved_ to see the novice well, but she was.

The _marath'damane_ stopped at a door on the very bottom level, and ducked into it, urging Dali in as well. It was a room nearly identical to her own, a bed, a stool and a candle burning on a rickety side-table. The bedclothes were rumpled, and the floor had not been swept, but Dali did not care. She had not been caught. It was a miracle, especially with these two young idiots for companions.

"That was _great!_" the one called Edie crowed, whirling. There was barely space for the three of them to fit in the tiny room, and both Dali and the other _marath'damane_ ducked her waving arms.

"Edie!" the other hissed. "We nearly got caught! Again! Rosil will have all the skin from our backs if we get sent to her once more. _Why_ do I let you talk me into these fool things?" She groaned, holding her head in her hands.

"You're such a prig, 'Trin. We _didn't_ get caught. Again." They sounded like any two sisters bickering, and Dali felt a strange pang, listening to them. Well, what _had_ she thought _marath'damane_ talked about? Their evil plots? Probably the older ones did. But these were just girls.

The one called Edie was short, dark-haired and pale, with a wide mouth and a brilliant smile. Trin was of a height with her, but plump where Edie was thin, red haired and with lots of freckles. Edie was weak in the Power, but Trin was nearly as strong as Dali. They both looked at her.

"I don't know you." Edie said. "And I know most of the novices. Are you new? What's your name?"

Faced with a question, Dali swallowed. Her eyes darted to the door. There were no locks. She could probably escape before the two could react, but...she did not want to make them suspicious. A _damane_ trying to escape might send the novices to an Aes Sedai, whatever their own punishment. But surely they would not turn in another novice, merely up to the same mischief. Had they really been running in the corridors for _fun_?

Taking a deep breath, Dali tried to sound natural. They spoke so oddly here, she could not mimic the accent, but there were girls from all over this land in the Tower. Maybe it would not be remarked upon.

"This one is called...Dalidani." She muttered, and added, "New."

The two stared at her. Dali's stomach clenched.

"Er." Trin said. "Well. What – where –?"

"Stop it, 'Trin!" Edie snapped. "She's scared. It's okay." She told Dali. "The first few weeks are very hard. But you'll get used to it. Promise." She smiled. "I've been here over a year, and 'Trin has been here for four. It's not so bad." She said, giving Dali's arm a consoling pat. Dali squirmed away.

Trin looked amused. "I've never heard of anyone trying to run away on the _first day_ before." She snickered. Dali's heart lurched. She knew! Oh Light, how did she know?

Her panic must have shown, because Edie scowled at Trin again. "I said stop scaring her! But look," she said "If you were running away – it isn't a good idea." She advised. "The Aes Sedai find you and bring you back. _Always_. And runaways have it hard. You don't want that." She beseeched, eyes wide and imploring.

"You certainly don't." Trin agreed dourly. "Aimee has _no _fun anymore. She's spent every night for six months in the scullery. I think her hands have taken on the shape of the scrub-brush. And she got switched for talking to Saisa in class yesterday, and Saisa only got a lecture."

Dali could feel herself shaking. If they did all that to their own novices, what would they do to _her?_ She swallowed, hard.

"You...will not tell?" She whispered to the two novices. They both shook their heads.

"We won't." Trin said.

"No. But –" Edie said. Dali twitched. What price would she want for their silence?

"But you've got you let us help you. Don't mind 'Trin," she added with a grin at the red-haired girl. "She's nice really. Just let us help. If you don't want to go to Rosil, just come and see us. This is 'Trin's room. Mine is on the second level, eighth on the left from the stairs. Call in when you want."

"Knock first." Trin added with an odd smile.

The _marath'damane_ were being...kind. Obviously they had no idea who Dali was, or they would probably have run to report her already, but the concern and the sympathy was the first Dali had known in many, many days, and she found herself choking up. The rush of emotion was unexpected and so powerful that tears were prickling at her eyes. Even if they were – even if –

"...thankyou." she rasped out of a throat thick with tears, and fled the room before they could speak or offer more comfort. The Light alone knew what she would do if they did.

Somehow, she was able to find her way back to her little novice-room without being caught by any of the wandering Aes Sedai. It was a blessed, welcoming sight, and Dali soon found herself curled on the bed, burrowed into her blankets, weeping.

She wept in relief, finally able to let out the terror and panic and dread that had been winding up inside of her this whole night. Limbs shaking with afterfright, utterly unable to hold back her tears, Dali clutched her thin pillow, and tried to muffle the sobs. She had never been so frightened. _Never._

And when the last shivers worked themselves out, when the last trembles faded, Dali wept in grief. Her longing for Malahavana, and Dani, and her mistress, was like anguish. She _missed_ them! She missed safety and security and certainty. She missed warm smiles and delighted laughter and games. She missed a life where she knew her purpose and her place and what was expected of her every day. She missed _everything_, with a yearning so fierce she just wanted to _die_ from it.

When grief had run its course, Dali wept in fury, bitter tears at the cruel injustice that had brought her here, landed her in a nightmare she could not escape from. She wept in rage that the world could be so broken, so twisted that _marath'damane_ ruled the land and ruined innocent lives. And she wept with exhaustion, bone-weary from days of worry and uncertainty and fear.

Dali lay in the narrow novice bed, hundreds of miles away from everything she knew and loved, and all alone, the yellow-haired _damane_ wept in pure despair.

~/~


End file.
